Kid Fears
by the ticking clock
Summary: Mycroft Holmes has a secret that only his little brother knows. Oneshot.


**I have zero explanation for this. It doesn't really follow any kind of logical flow, and really has no point. Also it changes perspective at the end. I guess it's just mindless word vomit Mycroft angst fluff. But I thought I'd post it anyway...**

Mycroft Holmes is afraid of the dark.

It's a stupid, mundane and absolutely foolish fear. He knows this. He hates that he knows it.

He hates it even more that Sherlock knows.

He had never intended for his little brother to find out, but when the power goes out and Mummy and Daddy aren't home, Sherlock finds him huddled in front of a candle.

"It's okay," his little brother says. His tiny hands finds Mycroft's large one, and squeezes.

"Of course it is, Sherly," Mycroft says, fighting to keep his voice steady. "It's just dark."

Sherlock looks up at him, eyes huge and bright in the candlelight, the shadows highlighting the hollows of his cheekbones, the strand of curls sweeping across his forehead. Redbeard's head is resting on his knees, the dog's silhouette is sleek and silent, blending almost seamlessly into his little brother's knee. "Just the dark," he says, and rests his head across Mycroft's forearm.

Mycroft nods. "Exactly."

"You're shaking," Sherlock says, softly. "I can hear your heart through your skin."

Mycroft doesn't even bother denying it. "That's because-"

"You're frightened," Sherlock says.

"I'm not, well, really-"

"It's okay," Sherlock says, and smiles up at him with just the corner of his mouth. "you're only human."

* * *

><p>Mycroft is soaking wet and Sherlock is stumbling and it is very dark.<p>

"This is humiliating," Mycroft hisses.

Sherlock croaks something that sounds like a laugh. "It's more humiliating for me, I'm-" he coughs and presses a hand to his stomach. In the shadowy light from the street lamps his fingers come away red and sticky.

"Don't talk," Mycroft snaps, and pulls his brother to a stop. Pulling the scarf from his brother's neck, he presses the bald up fabric against Sherlock's stomach. "Hold this here."

Sherlock rolls his eyes, "the ambulance is on its way, calm down."

"I'm not going to calm down," Mycroft snaps. He's cold and furious and terrified and they are standing under the only lit streetlamp in some disgusting alley in the middle of London.

"Athena or whatever the hell her name is these days is probably already on her way too."

"Of course she is," Mycroft shouts, throwing his arms into the air.

Sherlock is sitting on the rain soaked street now, head rolling slightly to one side. "Hurts, Mycroft," he says.

"Of course it hurts, you idiot," Mycroft snarls, sitting down beside him. "That's what happens when you get stabbed."

Sherlock looks at him sideways. The lights and howl of the ambulance are getting closer. "It's dark," he says.

Mycroft sighs. "Yes."

"Thank you for coming," Sherlock whispers.

Mycroft doesn't say anything. There's really nothing left to say.

* * *

><p>It's never dark in Sherlock's hospital room.<p>

The lights are constantly on in a hospital, probably because the doctor's always want to be able to see a death or a life they've managed to save.

His little brother is hooked up to several tubes and machines that are full of light-one tracking his heart is red and green, the ivy bag reflects white against the unbearable glare of the florescent hospital lights.

Mycroft closes his eyes and hides behind his own dark, the kind that has never scared him because he knows himself, fully and completely. He understands every inner working of every facet of his being. His dark is comforting.

A hand encircles his wrist.

Mycroft's eyes open.

His little brother is watching him. Sherlock's eyes are clouded with medication and pain. "Don't tell Mummy," he says.

Mycroft rolls his eyes. "I'm sure they've already contacted her, little brother."

"You wouldn't dare."

"Wouldn't I?"

"No, because then I'll have to tell her that the only reason I got stabbed was because my fearless older brother is afraid of the dark."

Mycroft stands. "You are a child."

Sherlock smiles.

* * *

><p>It's 3am when Sherlock's phone goes off.<p>

John answers it before Sherlock can ask. "Hello?"

"Put me on with my brother, now." Mycroft's voice is cold.

"Um," John says, looking over at Sherlock, who's eyes are glued to his microscope. "He's-"

"Doing some ridiculous experiment that will go nowhere because his hypothesis is wrong," Mycroft spits, exasperated. "I have people monitoring the house, John, I know what my brother's doing. Put me on the phone with him now."

Sighing, John taps his friend on the shoulder. "Your brother."

"What?" Sherlock snaps. "Why is he calling? He knows I prefer to text. He's at Mummy and Daddy's for Christmas, anyway, why-"

"He says it's urgent," John cuts him off, holding out the phone again.

Rolling his eyes, Sherlock puts the phone to his ear. "What? Oh." His voice quiets, becoming almost soothing. "Alright. It's fine. Focus on my voice. To the left of the brown cupboard there is a switch, do you see it? It will start the generator and then the lights will come back on. There. Yes, I know. Give it a few minutes. Oh, alright, yes-" Sherlock frowns. "He hung up on me."

"What was all that about?" John asks.

Sherlock sighs. "Nothing important."

"Noth-nothing important? Sherlock he sounded ready to kill me."

Sherlock's eyes are back at the microscope. "The power went off at my paren't house," he says.

"And?"

"And, what?"

"Was there a murder or something?"

Sherlock laughs. "No." He grins like a child. "Mycroft's just afraid of the dark."


End file.
